Page 45 of Tempted

I’m not sure what’s going to happen to us, but I know in my heart of hearts that there’s something that needs to be rectified before that can be discussed. And I decided that it’s worth discussing. In detail. I kiss him again and then leave, before I change my mind, and ruin everything...again. My mouth tends to work faster than my heart sometimes, and there’s only one way to stop it.

The sign on the door says, ‘communicate with the dead, psychic predictions, palm readings’, and added as an afterthought, scrawled on a piece of laminated paper is, ‘hurricane predictions’, as I sit in the parking lot, surprised that this medium is available following the horrendous storm. I suppose we’ve all got to eat. There is actually a car parked next to me, and as I exit my own car, I touch the hood and see that it’s still warm. Impressive. This patron kept her appointment. Miraculously, the makeshift house appears unscathed, as are most of the dwellings on this block. However, there are a few loose roof shingles on the asphalt, which appear to have come from the slightly rundown shed visible from the side of the house.

I say makeshift house, because, once I go inside, I see that the home is hollowed out to accommodate for a store. Crystals, tarot cards, books about various supernatural things, herbs, speciallanterns, you name it, it’s all in the store. The sign at the back of the store says, ‘smile, you’re on camera’, and another sign offers online payment, which I’ll assume accommodates for the lack of staff available to pay for in-store purchases. This medium also ships if you buy online. Quite a wave of the future for a psychic. Off to the side is another door that says, ‘Session in Progress’, and a little emoji that looks like someone trying to shoosh you in church. The whole outfit makes me want to cough really loud and it wouldn’t be a stretch, considering how sick I was last night.

I can hear footsteps upstairs from the tenants that likely pay her mortgage, and muffled speech from the room that begs you to shut the fuck up. Madame Lacy is expecting me in the next ten minutes, but I never show up to any appointments anything less than ten minutes early as a personal rule. After a brief check to ensure that my phone works under this roof, I review her website again, and then I take a quick cruise through Clare’s social media account again, making sure that she hasn’t grown a brain and closed it off to the public...yet.

Who I’ll assume is Madame Lacy, emerges from the quiet room in the back, about eight minutes later, and encourages her guest to look around for a few minutes. After an exchange of final pleasantries, a woman with purple hair and her male friend with a matching coiffure, leave the house, and Madame Lacy approaches me. “Are you Stephanie?”

I nod. “Aye, Madame. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”

She waves. The woman looks as normal as my mama, with a cream pants suit, her white hair tied back into a bun, and a faint smattering of blush colored lip gloss washed over her mouth. “I always keep a couple of blocks open daily for walk-ins. It’s not a problem. Won’t you come inside?”

“Aye.” I nod again, following her to the room.

The room is not what I would expect. Aside from a bookshelf, with various weird looking cards, implements, cups, and other strange items that I couldn’t name if my life depended on it, the room looks like everyone’s normal family room. The couch has an afghan covering the back and doilies covering the arms, and the area rug under it matches the rest of the linens in the room. The table in the center of the room has a crystal ball on it, but other than that, you’d never really suspect that this woman predicts the future. “Please have a seat wherever you like.”

“Thank you.”

“You didn’t exactly tell me what you were interested in on the message.” She explains. "So if you’ll let me run through briefly what I offer, that might make it easier for you to decide.”

I lift a hand. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh?” She smiles.

There’s only one way around this. “You have a client named Clare Mackenzie, right?”

The hesitation on her face is evident. It’s like I just slapped her in the face. “Are you a private investigator? The police?”

“No, nothing like that.” I scoff.

“Because I only aid authorities with the proper documentation.” She explains, half defensive, half irritated.

“I’m not a cop, Madame Lacy. I’m a business owner.” I’m not sure how much information I should give her. It all depends on how this conversation goes. She could easily stand up and ask me to leave, since I’ve queried something anyone in a regulated field would have instantly rejected, citing a breech of client confidentiality. However, since this woman’s tools consist of a crystal ball, tarot cards, and a Ouija board, I’d say that her standards are slightly lower.

“Then, what can I do for you?” She asks, almost too sweetly. But again, if she was more private or reserved, she would have told me to fuckoff already.

“Clare Mackenzie is trying to fuck over someone I care about. Moreover, she’s trying to sabotage their business.”

I’ve got her attention. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Well, she’s been in to see you regularly for the last few years, right?”

A nod, but her eyes tell me that she’s going to need to be fed more information, or perhaps....

I open my purse and pull out my wallet, handing her two fresh hundred-dollar bills. Since her services run from twenty bucks for a ten-minute psychic prediction, to fifty bucks for a fifteen-minute conversation with a beloved from the hereafter, I’d say that she’s impressed. “Err...yes. About five years, actually.” She’s pleased. “What can I do to help?”

I like this lady. Money is my language, and she clearly speaks it. “Like I said, she’s trying to fuck over a friend of mine, and I’d like her to stop it.”

“And what can I do about that?” She’s slightly confused, but not closing down. She’s open to suggestions.

“Well, nothing dramatic, but you can tell her that if she doesn’t lay off Harris Investments, that bad things will happen to her.” The crisp bills sit in her palm. Madame Lacy’s eyes go to her hand. I’m no fool. “How much do you charge for that.”

“I’m not in the business of lying, you understand.” She says, upping the ante. Shrewd. Very shrewd. I can see why Clare enjoys her company so much. The bitch.

“I wasn’t suggesting that, Madame.” I answer, taking out my phone. “But let’s say that in this case, for ten thousand dollars, you do me this one favor.”

She tries to stop it before it happens, but her eyes bulge slightly. It’s more like a flash. Like I just told her that her favorite pair of shoes that have been back ordered for the past six months, are now in stock. “She’s also pregnant, so you can throw in something about the baby or about the delivery, if that helps.In fact...” I trail off, adding another figure to the etransfer app I have open in my phone. “You add something about the baby, like if she uses it for leverage, that the kid’s coming out a twenty pounder, I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars.”

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